


Under Renovation

by gamerfic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Home Improvement, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Romance, Slow Burn, Superpower Sex, if by "home" you mean "secret paramilitary base"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-06-11 18:39:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerfic/pseuds/gamerfic
Summary: "It isn't safe for you to be here," says Vision, and he doesn't only mean the huge hole in the floor that yawns between them."I know that, too.""Then why did you come back?"Wanda hasn't turned her gaze from him since she entered the room. Behind it there's an echo of the same relentless, crushing pressure he felt that night she filled him with her power and brought him to his knees. He's not safe here either, in his way. "I came back for you," she says.(Or: Vision and Wanda fix a building, fix their mistakes, and slowly fall in love. Updated sporadically.)





	1. Chapter 1

Technically speaking, repairing the dormitory building at the Avengers facility isn't Vision's job. He's not entirely certain whose job it actually is, but there's no one else around to ask. When he first returned to the facility he intercepted an electronic message from Maria Hill to the support staff, full of phrases like "collateral property damage" and "potential structural instability" and "temporary reassignment elsewhere in the compound" and "paid administrative leave." It's plain to see he'll be on his own for a while.

The other buildings at the facility are still occupied and operational, of course. But everyone within them is too preoccupied with the conflict between the Avengers and its aftermath to make the damaged dormitory a high priority, particularly in light of the uncertainty surrounding how or whether it will be used again. Beyond a few perfunctory and wholly unnecessary wellness checks, Vision is left to his own devices. He's been alone for a few days before Mr. Stark shows up. He's wearing an expensive suit, but his face is still a mess of bruises and there are dark, puffy bags under his bloodshot eyes. Small white bandages hold together the edges of a deep laceration on his forehead. "Fancy meeting you here," Stark says with raised eyebrows.

It takes Vision a moment to grasp the idiom. "I have nowhere else to go."

"Not necessarily. There are plenty of nicer places for you to crash."

"I do not require sleep. The relative comfort of my surroundings is immaterial."

"Right. Sure. Figure of speech." Mr. Stark strides over to the enormous pit in the middle of the kitchen floor and whistles in astonishment as he peers down into it. "Damn. I didn't even know she could do that."

"Nor did I."

"Anyway, the security system's still armed. No need for you to hang around and house-sit. Unless you've got friends coming over later with some weed and a case of High Life to watch _The Wall_ , in which case I'm already wondering why you didn't invite me." He's pacing around the room now, his fingers dancing over the computer panels on the walls and the various terminals concealed within the furniture. "At least this gives me an excuse to test the automated repair system I installed. What do you say we clear out and let it get to work?"

"If it's all the same to you, Mr. Stark, I would rather stay."

"What's the point?"

Before Vision can answer, a phone chirps insistently. "That'll be about Rhodey," Mr. Stark says to no one in particular. He hurries outside to take the call in relative privacy. Vision can still read his lips well enough through the windows to know the news is bad. Soon he's speeding away in his sports car again, Vision and everything else in the facility forgotten for the time being.

But the repair system begins to carry out its tasks even in the absence of its master. Like everything Tony Stark designs, it's ingenious, visionary, flashy, needlessly complex, and more than a little impractical. Dozens of robots trundle out of hidden storage bays on the lowest level of the facility. They range in size from a few inches long to the size of a car, and they're equipped with everything from scoops to crane arms to welding torches to cement mixers to whirring power drills. The computerized brain of the facility itself has already informed them of the location and extent of the damage, and they get to work immediately. For the Avengers facility, Vision thinks, it's a good solution, even if its broader utility is somewhat questionable. Here, it allows for construction to occur at any time, while obviating the inherent difficulty of finding skilled, trustworthy contractors able to work on an idiosyncratic building in total secrecy.

Even so, the system is plainly a work in progress. Vision watches as one small robot, equipped with a saw for cutting concrete, tips over when its spinning blade jams against a stray piece of rebar. The machine lies on its side, rotating slowly and aimlessly, and for a moment he feels a strange and unexpected sense of kinship with the helpless thing. He looks away, concentrates, and sends out a ray of energy from the Mind Stone. The bright beam neatly slices away the wrecked section of floor. Then he rights the flailing robot, and it moves on to its next task.

A larger, forklift-like robot is approaching the fallen concrete slab. Vision steps in front of it, lifts the refuse effortlessly, and tosses it into the large trash receptacle the machines pulled out of a storage bay somewhere. He picks up and discards a second chunk of rubble, and another, and another. There's a deep satisfaction in putting things in order, in clearing away the evidence of the struggle he's hardly stopped thinking about since it happened. If he's going to stay here alone, waiting for something he's frustratingly unable to identify, perhaps it's for the best if he makes himself useful.

At first, Vision's involvement in the repairs largely consists of observing the robots at work and putting them back on course when things go wrong and they start to trip over their own servos. But as hours stretch into days, he begins to identify the tasks to which a sapient being is better suited. He finds and studies the blueprints for the facility, absorbs all the information he can find on architecture and engineering to fill in the gaps in the fragmented knowledge he inherited from JARVIS. He assembles materials, frames walls, holds I-beams in place while the robots weld them together. The work is constant, but simple enough to afford him plenty of time to think over the events of the past weeks. So when the alarm on the front door chimes one warm and sunny afternoon, he knows who has arrived and exactly what he's been waiting for.

He lets go of the pipes he's been trying to fit together and flies up to the main level. The door is closing behind Miss Maximoff - _Wanda,_ he reminds himself, _she wants me to call her Wanda_ \- when he shoots out of the hole and lands on the damaged kitchen floor _._ She's made some effort to disguise her appearance with baggy, nondescript clothing and sunglasses and a baseball cap, but Vision would always know her anywhere. She steps back, startled by his unceremonious arrival. Red smoke begins to gather in her palms. "Wanda," he says, holding up his hands in what he hopes she will take as a gesture of reconciliation. "It's only me."

She exhales heavily. The energy dissipates. "I know," she says, as much to herself as to him. She keeps standing there, still and silent and staring, not even five meters away. She might as well be in another dimension.

"I thought you were…"

"In prison? I was. For a while."

"How did you get out?"

"You know I can't tell you."

"It isn't safe for you to be here," says Vision, and he doesn't only mean the huge hole in the floor yawning between them.

"I know that, too."

"Then why did you come back?"

Wanda hasn't turned her gaze from him since she entered the room. Behind it there's an echo of the same relentless, crushing pressure he felt on the night she filled him with her power and brought him to his knees. He's not safe here either, in his way. "I came back for you," she says.

"Please elaborate." He realizes by her puzzled expression that he's responded too quickly. _Of course. Her tense posture and elevated heart rate suggest that this topic carries a strong emotional charge. In such circumstances, humans tend to prefer to volunteer additional detail on their own terms. I will remember this for the future._

"I didn't want the airport to be the last time I ever spoke to you."

The fight, and the mutual apology following it, is fixed in Vision's memory as clearly as everything else that's ever happened to him. "I thought we parted on the best terms possible under the circumstances."

"You don't get it, do you?"

"No," he admits. "Perhaps I'm not capable of understanding it."

"I doubt it." Wanda walks slowly toward him, skirting the gaps in the floor, her eyes flickering all around until they settle on a robot measuring one of the damaged areas with a laser. _At the moment, she seems to find eye contact too challenging._ "What are you doing here anyway? I thought this place was completely shut down."

"For now, it is. I am helping Mr. Stark's robots to repair the damage to this facility."

"You mean the damage I caused."

"I had a part in it as well."

"In a manner of speaking." She's staring at him again, her expression even more unreadable than usual. "If you're going to clean this place up, it's only fair if I stay and help you."

"That won't be necessary."

"It doesn't matter if it's necessary, Vision."

He's about to tell her that it _does_ matter, until he realizes that by those standards, he doesn't need to be present here any more than she does. Something other than pure practicality is tying both of them to this place. Instead he says, "It isn't only structural instability that makes this facility unsafe for you, Wanda. Mr. Stark told me the security system is still functioning. I cannot promise it will not alert him to your presence. There are cameras everywhere."

"On the exterior and in the common areas, sure, but not in the living quarters. At least Tony gave me that much privacy." Her brief grin is pained and joyless. "The ones outside aren't a problem. I know how to get past them. You would have known I was coming if I didn't."

"True," he admits. "But I cannot promise Mr. Stark won't return to the facility without warning."

"If he does, I'll handle it. Unless you're going to need to call him up and tell him I'm here?"

Wanda's breezy tone belies the seriousness of the question. _It's rational that she wouldn't trust me,_ Vision thinks. _I've given her no reason to - yet._ He takes his time before he speaks, considering the implications of any reply. Dishonesty and bald-faced lying still feel unnatural to him. If Mr. Stark or anyone else asks him directly for Wanda's whereabouts, he knows he won't be able to lie, any more than JARVIS could have lied about the chemical composition of vibranium or whether the front door to the mansion was locked. But there's nothing in JARVIS's programming, or the Mind Stone, or whatever now makes up Vision's own consciousness, that says he has to volunteer information that no one has asked him for. Finally he says, "I fail to see how exercising my own discretion in this matter would conflict with the agreements I have made with others."

"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies," she murmurs, smiling. "I'm glad to hear it. But all the same...if you don't want me here, I'll leave."

Vision hesitates again. Expressing his own individualized preferences, particularly as they relate to his chosen interactions with sentient beings, remains an unfamiliar (if not unpleasant) act. But when he compares the thought of remaining alone in the facility with the robots to the thought of having Wanda there with him, his answer is abundantly clear. "I would very much like for you to stay, Wanda."

"Good." Wanda holds her arms out at her sides, her hands palms-down, and propels herself over the hole in the floor with a burst of red energy. They both know either one of them could have crossed that false barrier at any time, and Vision wonders why each of them waited for the other's permission to move. "Why don't you show me where we start?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee, first fic for a new pairing in a new fandom! It's all so shiny and fresh!
> 
> Although I have a decent outline for this fic and a pretty good idea of where the story is going and how I'm eventually going to conclude it, I'm not planning to adhere to any sort of formal posting schedule beyond putting chapters up more or less as I complete and edit them. Considering what my life outside of fandom is like, I'm not sure how regular or frequent new chapters will be, so if a very random update schedule is a dealbreaker for you, you might want to give this story a pass until it's finished. If it isn't, welcome aboard and I hope you'll subscribe. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Stark's robots have continued to work as Vision and Wanda converse. The discussion seems finished for the moment, so Vision turns away from her and flies toward the hole in the floor. She follows, propelling herself away from the walls with bursts of power. They drift slowly downward together, level by level, until they reach the bottom. Wanda takes in the damage with surprise and curiosity. A few times, she shakes her head and mutters something under her breath in Sokovian, as if even she is astonished by the extent of her own strength.

In the sub-basement, she immediately notices the pile of rubble that Vision and the robots swept into a corner. "This can be reused," she says, and raises her hands. Red energy illuminates the room, crushing chunks of concrete into fine sand, filtering out refused and impurities, and funneling the resulting aggregate into empty containers nearby. He wonders if he should tell her this is unnecessary, and that Mr. Stark's fortune will easily pay for any new materials that might be needed, but he reasons that she must already know. Her old Sokovian habits of thrift and resourcefulness must certainly die hard - but more than that, he understands enough of human behavior to know she's working through something other than the work itself. So he busies himself with other tasks and waits for whatever comes next.

His attention continues to drift toward her as they work in a strange and unwelcome echo of his distraction during the battle at the Leipzig airport. Conversely, Wanda has no difficulty maintaining her focus remains on the energy spilling from her fingertips as she sorts and sifts and gathers. The Avengers Initiative, for all its shortcomings, has trained her well in the use of her powers. But the Avengers had nothing to do with the girl who once offered herself up to the Mind Stone for the sake of defending her people, or the young woman who saw Ultron for the monster he had become and chose a different path, knowing all the while what it would cost her. He wonders if she knows the full extent of her own strength - if anybody, himself included, truly does. And he wonders, also, what makes her so different from any other human he's met that he can't take his eyes off her even in a relatively mundane moment such as this one.

Two hours, twenty-one minutes, and seventeen seconds later, approximately 63% (by Vision's rough estimation) of the demolished concrete in the facility has been reduced to its component parts. Wanda straightens up and stretches extravagantly, walking away from the swarming robots as they continue to work. "I'm taking a break."

Vision has no comparable need, but he's already decided to go where she goes, at least until he can establish what she means by all of this. "Allow me to accompany you."

"Suit yourself."

They float back up into the kitchen. Vision finds it intriguing how much more cavalier Wanda has become with the use of her powers now that no one else is present. Before, when they shared the facility with others, her psionics remained quiescent outside of the training grounds and her feet always stayed firmly planted on the floor. He wonders what provoked her change in attitude and can't help hearing the echo of her words: _I can't control their fear, only my own._

When she opens the refrigerator, her nose wrinkles at the smell of spoiled food that wafts out. Shaking her head, she turns to the cabinets and assembles a meal out of the non-perishable items inside. She notices him watching her as she wrestles with a package of crackers. "What, making sure I don't run off again?"

"No." He isn't sure he can clearly explain why he's doing any of this, but he resolves to try. "I find it unexpectedly pleasurable to be in close proximity to you. If you would rather I departed, I will heed your wishes."

Her expression softens. "I don't want that. It's just...I've had a lot on my mind."

"I have heard that sometimes talking about one's problems can be of some help in resolving them. If you would like to talk, I am happy to listen."

Wanda sips from a bottle of soda she scavenged from the back of the fridge as she perches on a marble countertop shrouded in a fine layer of plaster dust. "What happened really doesn't bother you, does it?"

"I don't believe I was constructed in a manner permitting me to imbue events with such emotional weight. However, if you mean that I continue to speculate about ways in which the conflict between the Avengers could have been resolved in mutual agreement and with less violence, yes, I suppose it does bother me."

"Fair enough."

"For instance, I know I regret what happened to Corporal Rhodes."

A thin line of worry etches itself between Wanda's eyes. "Oh, no. Rhodey. Is he…?"

"Dead? No, and I am glad of it. But he's badly wounded. He may not walk again."

Wanda visibly relaxes at the news. "Thank goodness," she murmurs. "I mean, not that he's so badly hurt. Of course I hope he gets well soon. But...as angry as I was with Rhodey, and Tony, and you, I never wanted anyone to die because of all of this."

"Nor did I."

Her expression shifts again into something he doesn't recognize at first. _It's pity,_ he finally realizes, _pity for me._ "Then we each know how the other feels."

"Of course." Vision hadn't been there for the fight with Crossbones in Lagos, but he saw the news footage the same as everyone else: the endless loop of Wanda deflecting the explosives into the office building, the bloody and mangled bodies of the casualties being hauled away on stretchers. She knows just what it is to cause great harm while meaning well, even before one considers her onetime alliance with HYDRA and Ultron. All the same, her choice of words catches his attention. "Curious, then, that you implied I don't have any emotions."

She flinches. "I didn't mean it as an insult."

"I did not intend to imply I had interpreted it as one."

"Funny thing about humans, Vis. We have a way of hearing all sorts of things the person saying them didn't intend."

"Yes, I'm beginning to discover that." He notes her casual shortening of his name and wonders what's behind it, but just as soon decides not to ask those questions just now. "What I meant to say was that despite occasional difficulties, I believe I am reaching a deeper understanding of human emotional motivations that I did not originally possess at the time of my creation."

"Really? That's interesting." Wanda hops down from the counter, crumpling the now-empty cracker package with a tendril of red smoke as she moves and distractedly discarding it in the garbage can under the sink. She seems relieved to have turned the conversation away from her own thoughts and feelings, however temporarily. "What do you think is different now?"

"I'm not sure. It might have something to do with the properties of the Mind Stone. Or perhaps it's simply a function of having existed for long enough to allow my neural networks to form new connections. Mr. Stark or Dr. Banner might have had some insight, but they both seem rather occupied at the moment."

"That was a joke," says Wanda, sounding impressed. "You told a joke. Kind of."

"Yes, I suppose I did."

"You're right." She takes a few steps toward him. "You _have_ changed."

"For the better, one would hope."

"I think so."

"I'm flattered you would say that, Wanda. I know I still have much to learn."

"We all do. It's not like being human prevented the rest of us from making mistakes. Maybe if the others had worked as hard as you do to understand other people's emotions, things wouldn't have gotten as bad as they did."

"You are referring to the conflict between Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers."

"Well, yes."

"Wanda, you must understand, it was never my intention to harm you or anyone else. I realize that the outcome of my actions has been rather different. I drew my conclusions based only upon a logical analysis of the situation. At the time, I believed my methods were sufficient. However, it would appear that logic alone did not account for many important variables."

Wanda snorts. "You can say that again. Tony probably thought he was being rational, too, when he told us to sign the Accords - but his emotions were all over that decision. Guilt, for how our abilities had harmed innocent people. And fear, for how they might be misused in the future."

"I never looked at it that way," admits Vision.

"Not many people did - but I had a lot of time to think about it in the Raft. And it's not like Steve didn't also let his emotions get the better of him. Anger is an emotion. So is self-righteousness. And it definitely wasn't logic making him want to protect his friend."

With a telekinetic push, she directs the now-empty soda bottle into a waiting recycling bin and walks away from him, deeper into the facility, toward her former living quarters. "Where are you going?" he asks.

She looks back over her shoulder at him. "To the bathroom. Unless you're going to follow me there, too?"

"No. Of course not."

Without another word, Wanda vanishes into the shadowy hallway. Vision stands alone in the kitchen, replaying their conversation in his mind. It would be difficult to argue that uncontrolled emotion on all sides did not play a major role in how serious the conflict over the Accords became. What's harder for Vision to believe is that he himself also acted out of emotion, at least in part. Had he sided with Mr. Stark because his proposed course of action seemed the most logical solution to the Avengers' many challenges - or had he also felt a sense of obligation, however misplaced, to his creator? Had he acted as Wanda's jailer because he agreed it was best and safest for her to remain in hiding - or had he acted out of fear for her, and what the world might do to her? Just minutes before, he had told her he didn't think he had emotions, but now he was no longer so sure. Now, after only one conversation, he finds himself questioning everything about his choices, his motivations, and even the inner workings of his own mind. _How can this be possible?_ he asks himself. _And if it_ is _possible, how will it change how I must think and act from now on, knowing that I can be led as easily astray by my own emotions as Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers were?_

Vision is so lost in thought that he doesn't fully register the faint sound of the front door chime or the approaching tap of heavy footsteps until they are only a few meters away from him. "Hey," Mr. Stark calls out from the adjoining living room. "Anybody home?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been forever since I started this story. I wound up writing like a novel's worth of Dragon Age stuff in later summer/early fall instead. (Check my AO3 profile to read it if that's another fandom we share!) It is my sincerest hope that updates to this story will now be more frequent, if never exactly regular or predictable. Thanks for sticking with me - hope you enjoyed this update!


	3. Chapter 3

Vision hesitates before he replies, even though he knows there's no sense in trying to hide. "In here," he calls back weakly as Mr. Stark unceremoniously stomps into the kitchen. His injuries have begun to heal since the last time Vision saw him, and he's recently shaved and showered, but his clothing is rumpled and his eyes are still sunken and tired.

Stark's gaze flickers around the messy kitchen. "I disapprove," he says, grabbing a lukewarm beer out of the refrigerator and cracking it open.

"I beg your pardon?"

"When I said you had the run of the place I figured you'd take advantage of it. You know, raid the liquor cabinet, play the stereo too loud and piss off the neighbors, maybe hire a call girl or two?" Then, seeing Vision's blank expression: "Hey, FRIDAY? Let's make a video playlist for Vision, starting with..." But there's no response from JARVIS's replacement. "Right, she's deactivated while we're running on emergency power. Half this place is still offline. Anyway, _Risky Business_ has got to be on Netflix. Do yourself a favor and look it up."

"I'll take that under advisement."

"Good man, Vision." Mr. Stark claps him on the back. Before he can speak again, the sound of running water echoes faintly from down the hall. Stark turns his head curiously toward the noise. _Wanda,_ thinks Vision. _She doesn't know anyone else is here._ But Stark doesn't investigate it. He simply shakes his head and says, "Screwed up the plumbing too, huh? Well, hopefully the repairbots are doing their thing and it won't be an issue for much longer."

Vision wonders if the mildly light-headed sensation he is currently experiencing is what humans describe as _relief_. "The automated system appears to be performing as expected," he says, subtly guiding Mr. Stark toward the damaged area and away from the still-oblivious Wanda. The setting sun makes the interior of the facility gloomy and grey, but by the bright yellow glow of temporary work lights the construction robots bustle as busily as ever. Many of them continue to clear away rubble, while others have moved on to shoring up the damaged walls and floors with scaffolding and temporary columns.

Mr. Stark grins as he surveys his handiwork. "Nice job, me."

"Will these machines really make all the necessary repairs?"

"They ought to. No need to stick around and keep an eye on them. I certainly won't be. I'm just here long enough to grab a few things from the lab."

"Where are you going?"

"Back to the city for a while. They're transferring Rhodey to a rehab facility in Manhattan, and I want to stay close. Keep tweaking the walking frame I'm working on for him. I'll be at Avengers Tower if anyone needs me. This place should be back up and running by the time the doctors are ready to let him out."

"Understood."

"You can come along if you want, you know. Do some shopping, eat some bagels, go up to the top of the Empire State Building, see a Mets game, get tickets for _Hamilton_. Give yourself the whole New York City tourist experience."

"In light of the prevailing current attitude toward enhanced individuals, Mr. Stark, I'm not sure it would be wise for me to be seen in public."

"It was a joke, Vision." Stark sighs and rolls his eyes. "Listen, if you want to sit here brooding in the dark, I'm not gonna stop you. I'm just offering some suggestions for how you might take your mind off things."

"While I appreciate the sentiment, I am quite content to remain here," Vision says firmly.

"Fine. Have it your way." Mr. Stark chugs the last of his beer and flings the empty bottle into the same bin Wanda had used earlier. Vision experiences the dull thud of glass against plastic as a dead giveaway that someone else is in the facility; after all, it's not as if Vision needs or wants to drink soda. Fortunately, Stark's less-acute human hearing and scattered concentration mean he doesn't pick up on the incriminating detail. _We can't count on being so fortunate in the future,_ Vision thinks. _Wanda and I will need to be more cautious._

Stark fiddles with one of his metal bracelets. Moments later, a suit of red and gold power armor sails up out of the hole in the floor, one of its gauntlets clutching a heavy silver case of tools. The armor splits open and repositions itself around Stark's body, swiftly encasing him in protective layers of circuitry and steel. "Well, see ya. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." He gives Vision a final smirk before the helmet snaps shut and conceals his face. With a wave of his hand the skylight above them springs open and he soars up through it. Then he's gone, the suit's thrusters burning hard enough to rattle the glass as the skylight slides closed again.

From somewhere deep within the darkened recesses of the building, Wanda speaks softly. "Is he gone?"

Vision turns toward the sound of her voice. "Yes. I think so."

The shadows of the hallway seem to melt away around her, and she takes a few tentative steps into the kitchen. He'd been looking right at her without being able to see her. He remembers, now, how in her training Captain Rogers had encouraged her to test the limits of her capabilities. Hiding herself by altering others' perceptions had been one of the skills she'd been practicing, but he didn't know she'd gotten so good at it. _How much stronger is she than any of us know?_ he wonders, remembering again the shocking helplessness he'd experienced when she took control of his powers. "Good," she says.

"You are very fortunate Mr. Stark did not notice you."

Wanda shrugs. "If he had, I would've dealt with it. And I overheard your conversation. He'll be gone for a while now, right?"

"I would not be so sure. Mr. Stark is...unpredictable, and it isn't as if he left me his itinerary."

"True. But I'm still in less danger here than I would be in a lot of other places."

"Wanda, if he finds you here…"

"He'll send me back to the Raft. Or someplace worse. I know. Trust me, if it comes to that, I have a back-up plan. Because I am _not_ going to be locked up again. By anyone. _Ever_."

Vision is taken aback by the vehemence in her tone, the flush in her cheeks, the elevated heart rate and respirations he can discern even from across the room. "I cannot allow you to harm him," he says, knowing it's the wrong thing to say in the moment and that he would be lying if he said anything else.

"You think I want to kill him? No. Nothing like that. I'm done with killing unless there's no other choice. Luckily, I have other ways to protect myself."

"Of course you do. Wanda...it has been very good to see you again, but it might be best if you did not stay here any longer. I still don't know whether you are safe."

"Safe from Tony, you mean? Or safe from _you_?"

Long seconds drag by as Vision formulates his response. "I would never knowingly place you in harm's way," he finally says. "Nor would I deliberately turn you over to those who mean to hurt you. But I cannot promise that others among the Avengers will not do the same. And I do not wish to fight against my allies again, any more than I wish to fight you."

"That's fair," says Wanda softly. "I know you could have turned me over to Tony just now if you'd wanted to. It matters to me that you didn't."

"It is as I said. I cannot lie, but not everyone I meet needs to learn every truth that I know."

"I suppose that's all anyone can ask for." She yawns, then stretches. "You're probably right, though. Long-term, I can't stay. Even if Tony doesn't come back anytime soon, eventually this place will get fixed and everyone will move back in. When that happens, I'd better not be here."

"Yes. I agree." It's as true as anything else Vision has ever said, but he's immediately struck by how much he doesn't want it to be. He wishes they could go back to the time they all spent training peacefully together, and those all-too-rare quiet nights when the work was done and the living quarters were full of Mr. Stark's partially assembled gadgets and the rich smells of Sam Wilson's cooking and the rumble of friends bickering over something inconsequential and the faint strumming of Wanda's guitar barely heard through her open bedroom door. _If there were only some way I could keep her here, to bring back some of what we used to have..._ But the choices they've all made ensure that those long idyllic evenings are gone for good, and he's already promised himself he'll never be her captor again.

Wanda yawns again. "I'm not going anywhere tonight, though. It's late. You might not need to sleep, but I do."

"I understand. Good night, Wanda."

"Good night." She pauses for a moment, as if there's something more she wants to say or do to him. Then she seems to think better of it, turns, and walks away in the direction of her bedroom.

Part of Vision wants to follow her, even though he knows it wouldn't be right. Instead, he watches the robots as they continue their meticulous work. He knows that the unfamiliar sensation he's experiencing must be an emotional reaction to his conversation with Wanda, but he can't identify the nature of his emotions with a word so simple as "fear" or "concern" or "doubt." It takes several hours more of thought for him to begin to understand. I want her to stay, he realizes, but I also want her to have the chance to become what she is trying to be - what Captain Rogers wanted her to be. And she can't do it here. Not anymore. It's selfish and wrong to want her to be with him more than he wants her to be happy or safe, and yet he can't help feeling it any more than he can change everything that's passed between them. So he waits, and keeps observing, and keeps thinking. Perhaps by the time morning comes he will be able to make sense of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter for the new year. :) Thank you all for your continued patience with me and this story.


	4. Chapter 4

Wanda sleeps late the next morning, so late that Vision starts to wonder if she's somehow escaped his notice and slipped away in the night. Around ten a.m. he can't resist sticking his head through her bedroom wall to check on her. She sleeps sprawled out on her stomach, her slight frame somehow taking up the entire mattress. The sheets are balled up and tangled around her legs as evidence of her fitful slumber. But now her muscles are relaxed, her eyelids softly closed, her face placid. He remembers the dark circles that had shadowed her eyes the night before and observes that they are already fading. Some part of him wants to keep watch over her until she wakes, but another part knows it would be intrusive to do so. Instead, he withdraws from the room and goes back to watching the robots at work.

Mr. Stark's system is nothing if not efficient. It has continued working tirelessly while Wanda sleeps. The debris Vision and Wanda have been helping the robots clear has now been almost completely recycled or discarded. Medium-sized droids wielding reciprocating saws and high-powered laser beams are cutting away the last of the crushed concrete and bent beams to even out the edges of the holes. Automated vacuums sweep and suck up the dust and grime they leave behind. Some of the levels look ready for construction to begin, but the system doesn't appear to have started repairing them yet. Vision isn't sure whether this hesitation is by design or if it's a fault in the programming.

Before he can look into it, he hears the shower turn on in Wanda's bathroom and flies back up to the living quarters to wait for her. She's in there for a long time. When she finally emerges, she's wearing clean jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt and has her wet red hair pinned up in a messy bun. "Good morning," she says to him with a small smile.

"Good morning," he repeats, somewhat stiltedly. "Did you sleep well?" He already knows that she did, but humans seem to find such pleasantries reassuring, so he asks her anyway.

"I did, thanks."

She walks past him to the coat closet near the door, rummages around inside for a while, and soon emerges wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses and a blue baseball cap with a Stark Industries logo. "What are you doing?" he asks.

She pauses with her hand on the doorknob. "All the food in this place is rotten. If I'm staying here, I need to get something to eat. I'm going into town."

"How?" Vision is momentarily troubled by the image of Wanda soaring through the air with red energy trailing behind her in defiance of her status as a wanted criminal.

"The same way I got here, silly. Don't worry. Do you think I would have kept my freedom this long if I didn't know how not to be seen?" She puts up her hood as if to punctuate her statement.

Wanda's feet are planted in a confident stance, her gaze firmly fixed on him. _She's testing me,_ he realizes, _to see if she can really trust me. She wants to know if I'll prevent her from leaving this time._ It is a test he intends to pass. So he nods and says, "I understand, Wanda. I will be here when you return."

The smile returns to her face, broader and more genuine this time. "See you then," she says, and walks out the door.

The question of how Wanda arrived at the facility is answered by the cough of a small engine and the crunch of tires on gravel. Vision peers out the window and sees her speeding away down the long driveway on a battered motorbike. He hadn't even known she knew how to ride one. _She might not come back no matter what she told me,_ he thinks, and feels a strange twinge deep inside himself at the thought of never seeing her again. But there's nothing more he can do to affect her decision now, so he turns away and focuses on the robots once more.

Before long he can conclude that something is definitely wrong with how the repair system has been programmed. As the last of the construction debris is cleared away, more and more of the robots trundle back to their charging stations and go idle, awaiting further commands. They're not damaged or inoperable; they simply don't know what to do next. Once again, Vision feels an odd kinship with them. The facility seems too silent without the background noise of their steady work, too empty without Wanda there beside him. He doesn't know how to fix any of it, so he returns to the living room and waits on the sofa where he's spent so much time already.

Two hours, seven minutes, and seventeen seconds pass between the moment of Wanda's departure and the moment the front door opens again. She's using her telekinesis to open it, owing to the heavy bags of groceries she holds in both arms. Vision practically leaps off the couch and hurries to take them from her. "Let me help."

"Thank you." She follows him into the kitchen. He sets the bags on the counter, knowing enough not to interfere as she puts away the groceries with a logic all her own. _This is a substantial amount of provisions,_ he muses to himself as she gradually fills the refrigerator and the cabinets. _She must be intending to stay for quite some time._ The thought is unexpectedly pleasurable, even as he wonders where she got the money to purchase it all.

Wanda leaves some of the groceries on the countertop: vegetables, a box of dry pasta, a whole rotisserie chicken. Vision hangs back as she takes down a large stock pot and begins to assemble what must be chicken soup. His previous failures at cooking convince him not to get involved as she takes apart the chicken, chops the carrots and onions and celery, scrapes everything into the pot and fills it with water, and seasons it all with dried herbs and spices scrounged from the depths of the pantry. "It's quiet," she says as she works. "Did the robots break or something?"

"They are functional, but not operational. I am not sure why."

"Tony said he shut FRIDAY down. Do you think that might explain it?"

"Perhaps so," says Vision, his mind already churning through possibilities. He should have thought of this before, but Wanda's temporary absence prevented him from giving it the consideration it deserved. Now that he knows he's passed her test, he can turn his attention to other matters.

There's a computer terminal built into one of the kitchen walls. The words STANDBY MODE blink dimly on its screen. It doesn't respond to input from the keyboard, but that doesn't matter to Vision. He rests one hand on the display and reaches out, into the system itself, extending his consciousness throughout the facility's network just like he once reached into Ultron. He bypasses the remaining defenses against incursion without great difficulty; Mr. Stark built him him and the network both, so he already knows all of its tricks from the inside out.

Once Vision accesses the relevant subroutines, he locates the problem immediately. The repair system is largely automated, but it's also built to require manual input at certain points in the process. This is one such moment. Quite rationally, Mr. Stark has anticipated that at certain times he might wish to take advantage of the need for major repairs to make large-scale modifications to the facility. Accordingly, once the demolition and clean-up phases of the project have been completed, the system will not continue on to the construction phase without a blueprint having first been selected. Finding the current floor plan in Stark's data archives is trivial, and Vision transfers the file over with a thought. Immediately he feels the system awaken, instantly operational as if something has clicked back into place.

He pulls his consciousness out of the computer and brings it back into the kitchen to find Wanda staring quizzically at him. Far beneath them they both can hear the nearly subsonic hum of the largest robots getting back to the task of reconstruction. "They're working again," she says. "What did you do?"

"They needed blueprints." The words are strangely difficult to get out. Hacking the system took more effort than expected, and Vision can tell he's pushed his mind and body past their ordinary limits. "I found some." He feels suddenly weak, in a way he never has before, and leans heavily against a countertop.

There's pressure against his skin, light but insistent. He'd closed his eyes to try to collect himself, but now he opens them again. Wanda's hand is resting on his forearm, her face lined with confusion and concern. "Vis? Is everything okay?"

"I believe so." Thankfully, the strange enervation that filled him seems to have passed quickly, apart from a lingering tiredness settling in his bones. He straightens up and tries to smile. "It doesn't seem I was built for intrusions into computer networks. Not the way Ultron and JARVIS were, anyhow."

"Well. We all learn to do things we weren't built to do." _She's not talking about computer hacking or superpowers at all, is she?_ thinks Vision.

Wanda still hasn't taken her hand away from his arm. They both know he never needed her to hold him up physically, but it isn't what this was about. Acting on an impulse he can't name, he covers her hand with his. Her skin is warm against his palm. He's close enough to see her pupils dilating as she meets his gaze, feel her pulse accelerating beneath his fingertips.

He could calculate exactly down to the microsecond how long they stand together like that, but it doesn't matter. It isn't long enough. When she finally, hesitantly pulls her hand away and looks away from him, she murmurs, "I wonder what you'll learn next." And he doesn't say, _I wonder the same about you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely intend to stick to a schedule of posting at least one chapter a month in 2019. Especially because the next chapter is a juicy one. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

The next few days pass without incident. Mr. Stark finds no reason to visit the facility, and Wanda finds no reason to leave it. With their newfound access to the blueprints, the repairbots can also carry out their duties more efficiently and thoroughly. As it turns out, Stark even incorporated a machine learning algorithm into the system, allowing it to build upon its past experiences and improve its performance as time goes by. Before long, Vision rarely needs to intervene directly in the physical work of construction, except to repair damage, perform routine maintenance, or free robots that become trapped - and the system is learning how to do these things, too.

But none of it stops Wanda from working almost as diligently as the robots she labors alongside. She moves construction materials into place with telekinesis, builds concrete forms with the help of a tutorial from YouTube, holds beams in place while the robots weld them together. Each night she devours her meal and then falls into bed exhausted, after a long hot shower to loosen and soothe her aching muscles. It makes no sense to Vision. "I believe the system has been programmed to automate your current task," he says to Wanda one day as she carefully feeds a bag of dry cement into a mixer.

"I know," she shouts over the clatter of the tumbling drum.

"Then why not allow it to complete the work? It is more efficient now than either of us would be."

"Are you saying you think I should leave?"

"No. Not in the least."

"Good. I don't want to leave. What I'm trying to say is, how quickly the work gets done and who or what does it isn't the point."

"Forgive me. I don't understand."

Wanda moves closer to the workbench where he's replacing the blade on a robot's reciprocating saw arm. "Why did you stay here, Vision?"

He isn't clear on why she's asking, but he knows some humans dislike having their questions answered by another question, so he keeps thinking. (Granted, she has just done the same to him, but he wants to salvage what insight he can from the conversation before it becomes another inexplicable human reaction for him to puzzle over.) "Someone had to get the repair system operational again. All of the other Avengers seemed to be...occupied."

"No, I mean before that. Before you knew the repair system existed. Why were you hanging around here in the first place?"

It bothers him not to know the answer. A machine would have the solution already, would be able to point to the precise line of code that kicked off the subroutine that set the program in motion. But he's beginning to understand that maybe he isn't as much like a machine as he's been led to believe. "Perhaps I was waiting for something to happen," he says at last.

Wanda nods, frowning slightly. "Then you _do_ understand. I'm waiting for something, too." She returns to her task before he can ask for clarification.

And so, absent a clear explanation from Wanda or anyone else, Vision is left to work things out on his own. She certainly didn't express herself with the direct simplicity his mechanical mind so often craves. But after he spends the night replaying the conversation while she sleeps, he thinks he's beginning to grasp what she meant. Now that the repair system is running smoothly, his most logical choice would be to leave the facility and find a more productive use for his time. For Wanda this is even truer, since every day she remains in the facility increases her risk of discovery and recapture. Almost anyone can be taught to fix machines and troubleshoot code. Beings with his particular capabilities are few and far between, especially in the aftermath of the conflict that sent so many of the Avengers into hiding. Yet he remains here, busying himself with mindless tasks in defiance of everything rational thought can recommend.

Taking all this into account, he can only conclude that his business at the facility never had anything to do with the repair system at all. Even before he learned of its existence, he had not wanted to leave the place he had begun to think of as his home. He wants to see it rise again out of the rubble, repaired and made new, better than it was before, and he wants to have had a hand in its renewal. It's a human thing to want, inefficient and sentimental - but knowing those things does not make him want it any less.

_Just so with Wanda,_ he realizes abruptly. Both of them bear some responsibility for the damage to the facility, and perhaps this is why they both feel obligated to help fix it. They are also both responsible for the strained state of relations between them, though Vision knows he bears the greater share of the blame. More than repairing the building, he is staying now to repair the rift between them as thoroughly as he is able. Overseeing the construction process provides a convenient distraction to keep his body busy while his mind processes the real problem. Wanda's worst imply she is doing the same.

But performing the same actions as someone else does not always guarantee an identical outcome - not where humans are concerned, anyway. By joining Wanda in exile, he hopes to join himself more closely to her, in whatever form it may take. He wishes there were a way to know she wanted the same.

One evening, the machinery falls silent while Wanda is preparing dinner. She frowns as she pours noodles into a strainer in the sink. "Sounds like the robots aren't working again."

"Strange. The system was operational an hour ago." He rests his hand on the security panel on the kitchen wall. FRIDAY, the primary security system, and most of the facility's networks are still shut down, but enough active connections remain to allow him to check the repairbots' progress. The robots are indeed in standby mode, having returned to their charging stations to top off their batteries. Strangely, most of them already had enough remaining power to continue their duties for hours. The repair program is still running, and the logs don't record any errors in the code. The system simply stopped. _Curious indeed,_ he muses.

He digs deeper. Through the few working surveillance cameras he notes the smooth, still-damp surface of the concrete floor on the lowest level of the building, and forms a hypothesis. He checks the limited knowledge base stored in the facility's databases, then sends his mind out into the broader networks beyond its firewalls, filling his own memory banks with information until he arrives at the answer.

By the time Vision returns his consciousness to the kitchen, Wanda is scraping the remnants of her pasta into the disposal and rinsing the plate clean. He hadn't realized how long he spent searching. She looks up at him and smiles. "What did you find out?"

"Everything is functioning normally. The concrete we poured today simply needs time to dry and cure. It will take several days before it reaches its full strength. Until then, everyone and everything will need to refrain from putting any weight on it. Since some of the repairbots must maneuver on the bottom floor to work on the ones above, there will be some enforced idleness until the work can resume."

"Makes sense." Wanda is peering around a corner and into the living area where the damage began, as if trying to remind herself how many levels of the building her telekinetic blast sent him through. (If she'd asked, he could have told her it was five.) "I'm guessing this will have to happen again, too, as they build up."

"I believe you are correct."

"This is going to take a lot longer than I expected."

He can't tell from her tone whether she thinks it is a bad thing. "I am certain there are ways we could make the work go faster. For instance, neither of us needs to stand on the floor to work. If we hover just above it -"

"Don't bother, Vis." She turns and strides down the hallway toward her bedroom. "If the robots are taking a break, maybe we should do the same." Vision hears a door close softly and, moments later, a shower running. He's perplexed by her reaction until he remembers his earlier realization. _It isn't about how efficiently we make the repairs. It is about figuring ourselves - and each other - out. Perhaps we should be grateful to have been given more time to do so._

Besides, he could use the rest, as strange as it is to admit it. Now that he has had more opportunities to practice entering and manipulating the facility's computer systems, he no longer finds it as utterly exhausting as he once did. Even so, after he does it still takes him a few hours to feel he is operating at peak capacity. In the absence of any other pressing responsibilities, and without the inclination to invent any for himself, he loads the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and ponders what to do next. When he hears a guitar being gently strummed, he knows his decision has already been made.

Vision had not expected to hear this sound again, and he isn't sure how to react to it. He soon finds himself standing awkwardly outside the open door to Wanda's bedroom, distantly grateful to have remembered it isn't polite to walk through the wall. She's sitting on her unmade bed with the guitar cradled on her lap. She wears a clean T-shirt and pajama pants and has her bare feet tucked up under her as she softly strums. When she hits one particular chord ( _D minor_ , some subroutine or another helpfully informs him) she stops, frowning at a sour note. Reaching up to adjust her tuning, she finally notices him. "Hi."

"The B string is slightly flat," he blurts out.

She raises her eyebrows, but turns the corresponding tuner and nods in satisfaction when the chord rings out again with flawless intonation. "Thanks. Sometimes I wonder if there's anything you don't know."

_Too many things,_ he thinks, but instead for some reason he says, "I did the dishes."

Her hands go still on the strings of the guitar. "I appreciate it. Did you come over here just to tell me that?"

Vision is just barely savvy enough to recognize an invitation when it's being offered. "No. I heard you playing your guitar and...I've missed it. I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I stayed for a while and listened."

Just over three seconds pass before Wanda responds, but they seem interminable. The pause, and his own difficulty in self-expression, make him all but certain she will decline. But instead she says, "I don't mind at all," and touches the rumpled bedspread on the mattress beside her.

Before Vision can lose his nerve, he crosses the room and sits where she'd told him to. He doesn't know where to look or what to do with his hands, and he's sure the uncertain stiffness of his posture must be painfully obvious. But soon he finds she isn't looking at him at all, but at her fingers on the neck of the guitar as she stumbles through the chord changes of a simple folk song. It's been weeks or months since she last played, and even when she's not rusty she is of intermediate skill at best when measured against the performances accessible through JARVIS's former memory banks. None of it matters to Vision. Though logic might dictate otherwise, he knows he has never heard more beautiful music.

They both continue to relax as Wanda goes on playing. Vision feels his spine loosening and his troubled thoughts slowing to a pleasant crawl. Visual input does not seem to enhance the scene in any way, so he closes his eyes to better focus on the music. Wanda, too, has grown more comfortable. Her playing becomes more confident with practice, and soon she begins to sing as she strums, softly at first and then with increasing passion. She sings campfire songs, folk tunes, even a few recent pop hits somewhat clumsily transcribed but somehow more charming for their imperfection. Her voice is lovely but untrained, high and occasionally wavering and more soothing than he could possibly imagined. He's still feeling drained from his earlier incursions into the repair system's code, and when he feels an odd urge to lie down, he obeys it.

If he could fall asleep he would, lying on his back with his eyes still closed and music filling the air and Wanda's steady warmth against his leg. But he's fully awake when her singing and playing shift into a song he doesn't immediately recognize, a simple waltz with simple chords and lyrics in Sokovian. He could surely bring up its name and its translation if he tried, but the effort involved would take him out of the moment and there's nothing he wants to do less. Instead he lets the notes and the words wash over him, their mood of wistful longing clear even if their precise meaning is not.

At last the melody fades away. There's a faint rustle and a clunk as Wanda returns the guitar to its stand. Her palm brushes the open strings as she lets go of the neck, and their harmonics ring out into the silence. Then, to his surprise, he feels the mattress shift beneath her weight as she lies down beside him. Vision opens his eyes to find her studying him with a curious gaze. "Hi," she says again, inexplicably.

"Do you need me to leave so you can sleep?"

"No. Please stay. If you want."

He doesn't know how to respond, so he asks something unrelated instead. "I wasn't familiar with the song you just sang. What was it?"

"The Sokovian one?"

"Yes."

For a moment, she looks away. "It's a lullaby. Americans don't usually know it." Despite the various documents Mr. Stark has encouraged the government to provide to him, Vision isn't entirely sure he _is_ American, nor can he ever remember having heard a lullaby before - but at the moment it seems beside the point. "But everyone in Sokovia does. Our mother used to sing it to us. To Pietro and me, I mean."

"It's lovely."

"I agree." All of a sudden, her eyes are shining with unshed tears. "I miss him."

"Pietro?" She nods once, crisply, her bottom lip trembling slightly. Vision doesn't remotely understand how any of these things are connected; he can only try his best to be kind. "I wish I'd had the chance to know him better."

"I wish that, too. The two of you barely even met." Wanda squeezes her eyelids shut, takes a deep shuddering breath, and composes herself. "He was my best friend. We could talk to each other about anything. I wish I'd been able to ask him what to do about you."

_What would you have asked him?_ Vision wonders, but he doesn't ask the question out loud. He has a reasonably good idea of the answer. Wanda's face is drawing closer to his, looming ever larger in his sight, the distance between them diminishing at a startling rate. _What will happen,_ he asks himself, _when it vanishes entirely?_

He doesn't find out. From deep within the facility there echoes a tremendous crash and a clatter of metal on metal. Wanda jerks away from him, lifting her head from the pillow as she casts about for the source of the sound. "Did you hear that?" Before he can answer, another noise drowns everything else out: an intruder alarm blaring out deafeningly from somewhere inside the hole in the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like this is starting to settle into a once per month update groove. That's not as frequent as I would like, but at least it's a little more reliable than what I've been able to give you. :) All this being said, I feel like my writing pace is starting to pick up a bit as I start to lock in on the main plot I had planned (I know, this story has often put the "slow" in "slow burn"...), so who knows what the coming months will bring. Thanks, as always, for your comments, kudos, and support.


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